


Gamma Sprite

by kentuckybarnes (hannah_jpg)



Series: Sprite [3]
Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: F/M, Human Experimentation, Reader Insert, You Really Just Want to Get a Degree, elements borrowed from the Gamma World serial, failed proposals, gamma radiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-09 07:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16445051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/kentuckybarnes
Summary: The Leader has been jailed, but AIM perseveres. Diabolical plans are put into motion, and you’re caught in the middle. Involving unexpected guests, a bird cage, botched plans, and a practical joke or two. Part 3 of 3 in the Sprite series.





	1. Chapter 1

The halls of the faculty building are mostly deserted. They would be, of course, it being late afternoon of the last Friday of the semester. Everyone is out celebrating, and soon you will be, too.

You stop at the last door in the faculty hallway and knock at the door. A second later, and a voice calls, "Come in!"

Professor Stern is ducked behind a computer, but when you open the door he glances up with a smile. His black hair is shiny in the harsh lights of his office, which he pushes away from his face as he gestures for you to enter.

"Thank you for coming. Please, close the door."

You do, and plop your bag onto the floor by the chair as you sink into it with a sigh - it had been a long day with your final exam for your final class  _ever_. You smile at Professor Stern ruefully.

"Grading papers still?" you ask.

"Some," he admits, rolling his chair back slightly. "It's a thankless task."

"I don't doubt it. What did you want to see me for?"

"Plans to celebrate tonight?" he asks, quirking a brow.

"A party," you say, smiling. Sam had taken the plans in hand - it was going to be over the top, you were certain. But since it would be Avengers Tower, where you'd been living the past year, you would probably be able to sneak away early. Bucky would likely support you in that endeavor.

"You deserve it," Professor Stern says, interrupting your thoughts. "I've never had a student fly through these doctorate level courses so quickly."

"I've had good mentors," you say, fiddling with a torn seam in your jeans. You decide not to mention that Tony Stark is your mentor. It was best to keep those sorts of things a secret.

"Did you have a lot of help on your dissertation?"

"Some."

He nods, and leans forward to rest his arms on his desk as he continues to study your face. "In all my years of teaching and research, I never saw such detailed work. And on the cross-effects of vita and gamma rays - completely unexpected! I think you'll find your work is referenced for many years to come as this sort of technology becomes more mainstream."

You try not to blush - but it's hard to resist a compliment. "Well, thank you, Professor. I enjoyed my work. I'm hoping it can be useful."

"Oh, I think it will be." Professor Stern's mouth twists into a smile.

Expectant silence.

"Do you have a job lined up?"

"Yes, I do."

"Is it...a good job?"

In the past year that you've been working on finishing your doctorate, you'd been very careful not to give away too many details of your history. Working for a man now wanted in four countries, the accident, living in the Avengers compound, going on missions. Dating a former assassin. You'd been successful, for the most part. But now it seemed that it was going to catch up to you. You take a deep breath, thinking fast.

"Yes. I've been hired on as a lab worker for Stark Industries." This is essentially true.

"Oh?" Professor Stern's brows skyrocket. "Which department?"

"Um - biophysical chemical experimentation."

"Has Stark himself read your dissertation?"

 _Yes. I made him proofread it seven times_. "Oh, I don't know. He's...pretty busy. I've never seen him around the labs." This is also true, in essence. He'd always been  _in_  the lab. You give Professor Stern a winning smile. He nods slowly.

"I did notice that you glaze over electromagnetism in your work. Is that on purpose?"

"Er - no. I never worked with that, myself." You squirm in your seat.

"That's too bad." He shrugs. "I think you would've found it most...illuminating."

You blink. The first image in your mind is of those electromagnetic guns AIM had used in their labs. The one which had short-circuited Bucky's arm, the one which had reversed the effects of your gamma accident. How odd.

"And do you know," he continues, pushing away his chair to rummage through a drawer. "Magnets can hold gamma radiation stable, for short amounts of time. If contained correctly in a device. It can even be controlled…"

"Sounds like an experiment for someone else," you say.

"Perhaps. Perhaps."

"Professor, I'm already running late - "

"This will only take a moment."

You did  _not_  like the sound of that. You like it even less when Stern produces from his drawer something that looks like a water gun - but made of metal, not plastic, and the feed tube is glowing green instead of sloshing innocently.

"Gamma rays have peculiar effects on individuals," he says pleasant, stroking the long barrel. "Your old boss was turned into a monster. But not you, eh?"

Your blood runs cold. No one knew about that. No one but your team, no one but...AIM. AIM knew. Not very much, but enough. Stern's eyes flicker to you.

 _Bucky, I'm sorry I ever teased you for insisting I wear an emergency tracker_ , you think through your panicking mind. You just barely get a chance to push the button on the nondescript, silver bracelet around your wrist before Stern fires the gun directly at your middle.

You'd think by now you'd be used to the pain - but you're not.

Stern examines the barrel of the gun with an interested,  _humph_ , before packing it away in a briefcase. He stands, completely unrushed, dragging a jacket over his shoulders and zipping it up. Then, producing a suitcase from behind his desk he shoves your bag out of sight, and with a satisfied nod, picks up your limp form from the chair across his desk, and drops you into his jacket pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

"Relax, Tin-man - it's going to go  _great._ "

Bucky, biting his lip so hard it was about to bleed (no one is brave enough to point this out), can hear the doubt in Sam's voice. The sparkling lights arranged in the common room of Avengers Tower are making everything glow pleasantly, and the voices of guests already arrived a pleasant background. But he couldn't relax.

"She texted that she was done an hour ago," Bucky said with a frown. "It doesn't usually take this long to get home."

"Maybe she stopped at the store," Sam suggested. "Or...she went out for a drink with her classmates."

"She would have told me."

"Maybe…" Sam gives a shrug, knowing in this state that Bucky is a lost cause for cheering up. Sam catches Steve's eyes across the room, and Steve walks over with a smile.

"She's going to  _love_  it," Steve says by way of greeting, clapping Bucky on the metal shoulder. Steve hides his wince from his throbbing hand, and adds, "Though to be fair, you could've ordered pizza and called it a night and she'd still love it."

"Might've been a better idea." Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket - still no notifications. Letting out a low exhale, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"No, Buck; your plan is perfect," Steve assures him. "There won't be any hiccups. I'm sure."

Bucky glances up, eyes widening. "Unless - unless I forgot - " Quickly he pats the front pocket of his shirt, and sighs when he feels the shape of the ring inside.  _That_  was to be the climax of the night - midnight, the balcony overlooking the New York skyline. By then most of the guests would leave by then, so it would be peaceful and private. And he'd asked Steve specially to keep Sam away so that the secret wouldn't be spilled.

"Man, you need to chill," Sam says unhelpfully. "We've got your back."

"I know, I just…" Bucky trails off as he catches sight of Tony, walking briskly towards them, hands in his pockets. His expression is just slightly off; anyone else might not notice, but in his heightened anxiety, Bucky's stomach drops to his feet.

"Hey there," Tony says, striving for unconcerned. "Jarvis got an emergency flag from your girl. Did she by chance inform you of any plans to visit Vermont tonight?"

Bucky shoots to his feet, hearing Steve's sharp inhale behind him. "No, she did not," Bucky says through gritted teeth. "We have to go. Now."

"We will," Steve says quickly, holding out a hand to keep Bucky from charging. "Any idea what's going on, Tony?"

"None. Except that she left campus about ten minutes ago and is travelling north at the speed of a car apparently unconcerned about speed limits. Or a helicopter. Since she's not following any roads a helicopter would make the most sense..." Tony shrugs, and clears his throat as he sees the dangerous tick in Bucky's cheek. "We'll suit up. Pepper will stay and make sure the rest of the guests aren't too disappointed."

But Bucky is already shoving through the crowd, less than polite, his previous, overwhelming nerves now focused solely on finding you.

* * *

You're cold, damp, and sore. As you come to, you give the first few moments of your consciousness to miserating over these things. Then you take stock of your surroundings. You're lying on a chilly surface, and you hug your arms tightly to try to warm yourself. There are some electrical beeps and blips nearby; the whoosh of generators. The click of typing on a keyboard. The light is dim, but as you reluctantly open your eyes, the pierce of industrial lights overhead makes you wince.

"I apologize for the lack of amenities," a voice says smoothly, the typing never stopping. "But we have other concerns than providing comfort for thieves."

Thieves. The ring of a memory echoes in your mind:  _You'll never steal from me again._  Glowing green eyes. Oh, no - AIM. The files. The weapons...oh, you had thought that was over.

Slowly you force yourself to be alert, pushing yourself into a sitting position and trying to examine your surroundings. The action causes a slow swinging, and as nausea makes spots appear in your vision, you clench the iron bars of a cage. A  _cage_.

It was suspended from the ceiling of a dark room among pipes. It's probably a bird cage, you think, or at least it had been, ten years earlier. Taking a deep breath, you peer to the ground.

Several metal desks. Computers. Lab equipment. All standing in a semi-circle, with a massive, circular generator in the middle. Lights are shining on it, and strange yellow smoke is emitting from the base.

"Do you like my invention?" comes the voice again. Your head jerks - you see Professor Stern bent over one of the computers, his gaze not once turning to you. "It harnesses the radioactivity of gamma rays and focuses them however I wish. When combined with a small amount of vita rays, with electromagnets to focus the power...the results are fascinating. You'll be amazed."

You say nothing, but sit shakily back on your knees. Your head is pounding.

"Without Hulk blood, the results are random," he continues. "Much like you. Everyone reacts to it differently. But Hulk blood puts a little  _rage_ into the outcome." Now Stern glances up. In the dim, yellow light his smile is eerily shadowed. "You'll see."

"I'd rather not," you retort.

"Not your choice. And you can have a front row viewing to the entire thing, too." Stern straightens, running a hand over his slick hair. "Come on. Aren't you the least bit fascinated at the effects these rays will have on a group of people? A city? A nation?"

"Not really."

"A scientist like you, not interested?" He laughs. "You're lying. This is new knowledge, and we have it first! Think of how we'll be hailed as the forerunners of this invention!  _Think._ "

Your lips twist into a disgusted frown. "I have nothing to do with this."

"Oh my dear, you have  _everything_  to do with this." Stern begins to pace in front of the desks, his hands clasped behind his desk as he speaks passionately. "You're the only one besides Banner himself affected by his experiment. But a completely different reaction! When my master discovered this, he knew immediately that there was more we could learn about gamma rays than we'd ever dreamed. And your dissertation…" He smiles again, and you shrink back. "I was fortunate to have the very woman I needed apply straight to my doctorate program. All the experiments you've done - with Banner, with Stark - all the information was handed straight to me all these months in your papers."

Oh... _no_.

"I see the horror in your face, little one," Stern says. He pauses before your cage, about the same height as his face. You scoot backwards further, trying to get away from his massive, looming grin. "Your name will be revered through all the world. You are brilliant, truly - it is a shame you have such  _scruples_. If we were to work together...with my master, we would be unstoppable. We could look beyond this planet. We could extend our power forever."

"But is the health insurance any good? Paid vacation?" you snipe back. You would  _not_ let him see how frightened you are. You will not. You will  _not_.

Stern merely smiles. "Get comfortable. There are a few more tweaks to sort out before we can launch it." And striding over to a panel, he pushes a button. "Send in a test subject."

This is  _not_  looking good. You fumble around in made haste, heart racing as you go for your pockets - only to find you've been dressed in ill-fitting doll clothes. Where were your clothes? Your tracking bracelet? Oh,  _no;_ had the signal gone through? Where would the team go, to find you?

There's a screech from far away as a door is opened - through it comes a shivering man, dressed in a jumpsuit and looking wary. Stern goes forward to greet him, indicating that he step upon a raised platform surrounded by transparent walls, some feet from the generator. The man is shaking as he's enclosed.

Stern pushes a button on the panel, speaking loudly. "Test GW235. Adjusted course of vita rays to delay 2.3 seconds to allow gamma mutation before stabilization. Results to come."

And then, the light making creepy shadows in his face, he cranks down a lever. The generator hums louder, and the man flinches as Stern pushes a third button, and yellow light floods the room with a scream. You cover your ears, squeezing your eyes shut as the noise becomes unbearable. It's too much like that day, in Dr. Banner's lab...your bones throb with the memory of pain…

And then it's silent. You don't dare open your eyes. There's a huffing of breath nearby from Stern, and then he curses. A click of a button.

"Test GW235 has failed. Subject did not survive mutation." Then. "Send in a cleaning crew."

It's a long time until you dare open your eyes again.


	3. Chapter 3

The beeping of the onboard tracking sensors go into a frenzy. Heart pumping nearly as fast, Bucky leans over the dash where Tony is punching buttons with a frown.

"Is she here?" Bucky asks, for about the fourth time.

"I don't  _know_ ," Tony says, his voice only slightly exasperated. "But the gamma readings are enormous. They're interfering with the tracking signal. I'm going to have improve the tracking devices when we get back. Jarvis, make a note. And while you're at it, analyze those gamma rays for me."

"Yes, sir."

They are somewhere in Canada, flying high so that only the dark tree tops were visible. Bucky's fingers are clenched on the headrest of the co-pilot's seat, where Nat is sprawled as she checks the fastenings on her holsters.

"You seem calm," Bucky snaps at her. It's hard to think of politeness at the moment. Or anything except his own fear. For Natasha's credit, she doesn't look up at him, but says coolly,

"You're tense enough for the rest of us, Barnes. I promise I'm just as concerned as you, but freaking myself out isn't going to improve the outcome." At this she does glance up, unimpressed. "You know that."

He only grunts in response.

"Aha," Tony breaks the silence. "Now this is a unique, and very familiar gamma signature. Jarvis?"

The voice overhead is cool. "Can confirm a match, sir. Scans show an underground bunker."

"Match for what?" Bucky asks.

"Your girlfriend is underground," Tony says, pushing his seat away to stand. "And...well - " He hesitates, meeting Bucky's forbidding gaze, and says no more. "We'll drop down."

The forest is suspended in chilly silence. Bucky's senses go into overdrive; he hears Nat some distance away, reconning the concrete bunker door which will lead underground, and Tony flying overhead to make sure there were no surprises coming. There were only a few guards above ground; easy to pick off. A few pops of gunfire, and Bucky grits his teeth as he runs to the door, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The grey mist of the forest has clung to his hair, and he pushes stray, damp strands from his face with one gloved hand.

"Steve will be sad he missed such an easy infiltration," Nat says breathlessly. She's torn the keypad from off the concrete wall by the iron door, sticking a flash drive into a port. There are several beeps of red light, and then the sound of iron bars being disengaged from within. Efficient. Bucky ducks in behind Nat to enter the dimly lit corridor. The door closes with a resonant  _thud._

"Okay…" Nat says, staring around. There's nothing but the hallway. "Directions, Tony?"

"Aw, man, did you go in without me?" comes Tony's voice over the coms.

"Yeah, and we feel really bad about it," Bucky cuts in. "Tell us where to go."

"Fine. South in the hall you're in for about 600 feet, then a left, a right, a right, a - "

"Tell us when we get there," Nat says. They break into a jog.

"Stay away from the north wing; there's about twenty people there. Extraction, not a fight. Remember, Barnes?"

Bucky scowls, even though he know Tony can't see it. "I remember."

"Good. We'll save it for another time. Promise."

The bunker is silent. No surprise there - most of the bunkers Bucky has been in were silent. Only the sounds of his and Nat's footsteps can be heard. If he focused, he could hear the group far away which Tony had warned him about, and ahead - a rumbling, a whirring. Probably a machine. The generator that powers the bunker? Probably.

"The room on the left is the one you want," Tony says.

Bucky doesn't question how he knows this. He and Nat stop by the door, making brief eye contact. Bucky pulls the rifle back into hands, securing it in his metal shoulder with his jaw set. He gives a nod. Nat lifts the latch on the door, and with a grunt pushes it open. Side by side the enter, scanning the room.

It's empty.

Arranged around an enormous generator throbbing with yellow light, there are metal desks covered in stuff - computers, lab equipment, notes. Things are fluttering, as if left by someone in great haste. A desk chair squeaks. At the far end of the room, a structured room with glass windows, dark.

"There's no one here, Tony," Nat's voice breaks the silence.

"No…" Tony's crackling voice says slowly. "I'm pretty sure she's there. Jarvis says so."

"The room is empty."

"No...try about ten yards southwest."

Bucky strides forward, eyes darting around the room with great mistrust. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up, and he hears Nat fussing on a computer.

"You're right there, Barnes," Tony says into the coms. "Your heat signatures are melding."

"There's no one here, Tony," Bucky snaps, his patience snapping from its taut hold. "No one, it's completely deserted - " But as he speaks, he looks around one more time, this time up; he hadn't regarded the ceiling before, and - he curses under his breath, the knot in his stomach tightening with dread.

"Aw,  _hell_."

It's your wan face that Bucky sees, so high and lonely and  _small_  and damned forlorn. The voices have roused you from your stupor, and pulling yourself to your knees you had grasped hold of the bars of your cage, peering out.

"Bucky," you whisper through your dry lips. Your limbs are shuddering - with lingering fear, with hunger, with cold. You reach out from between the bars as Bucky reaches up towards you, and you place a single hand on the gloved knuckle of his index finger. His eyes are glassy and wide - horrified. You wince. "Bucky, I'm sorry - "

"Hey, shh."

You bite your lip, and you feel burning tears fill your eyes. You can see the attempt he's making to smile, and it looks painful. He lets out a breath, lips twisting into a semblance of a grin.

"You missed your party," he tells you, clearly attempting to keep his voice light. It hurts.

"I know, I know - I'm sorry - I didn't know Professor Stern was working with AIM; he caught me completely unawares and I should have drop-kicked his butt in his office but I panicked; I couldn't even  _think_  - "

"Shh," Bucky repeats. His brows are creased together now. "Let's get you down. I'm going to take you home."

Well, of course he is. You take a steadying breath, and sit back in the center of your cage as Bucky backs up several paces. Nat has wandered over, her expression shielded as she positions herself directly beneath the cage.

"Ready?" Bucky asks. He's aiming his rifle upwards, squinting.

"Ready," Nat says.

Silence, and then a cracking gunshot. The cage shudders, and you can't help gasping as it hurdles down to the ground. Nat catches it with a jostle. Your stomach protests this treatment, and you moan a little.

"Got any wire cutters?" Bucky asks, striding up with his gun slung back on his shoulder.

"No."

He swears again. But Nat, lifting the cage carefully to her face as you brace yourself, only shakes her head.

"You're hopeless, Barnes. It's not even locked." And with a flick of her fingers, a little windows falls open.

"Well, thanks," you say shakily, standing and grasping your way to the window. Bucky holds out his hand, and carefully you climb into it. Safe. You let out a breath, and Nat drops the cage onto the floor dismissively.

"Got her. Is the path clear back to the entrance?"

You can't hear Tony's reply, not having a com, but Nat's expression hardens, and you see Bucky's jaw clench as he lifts you to the pockets of his tactical vest. Must be trouble.

"Wish there was somewhere safer to put you," he mutters to you as you climb inside the itchy fabric. So thankful to be out of that hard, cold cage, you sigh, rubbing your aching eyes with your hands.

"I need to talk to Tony," you say as they turn away from the generator to leave the room.

"You will," Nat assures you. "I'll go first, Barnes. There are only two coming - I'll be quiet so we can slip out."

"Ok," Bucky replies. His voice is rumble through his vest. You'd missed him - so  _much_  that it hurt - but being back with him surfaces a thousand realities that you do not want to face. You were small again. And as much as you had tried to spy on Professor Stern when he wasn't blowing up test subjects, you hadn't seen the device which had changed your size. If he was smart, he wouldn't have it in the same room. He was proving clever enough so far.

Nat shoulders through the door first, and there comes a shout from the hallway. It only lasts a split second, and then there's silence again. Bucky leans his head out, and then sidles on at a brisk pace. You peek out of the vest pocket, eager to see - Natasha is jogging onward, and Bucky passes two bodies wearing guard uniforms. Excellent. You smile grimly.

"Tony's back on the jet," Bucky says as he follows Nat through the hallways. "We'll get out before anyone sees us."

 _Or worse,_  you think to yourself. But you bite your lip. You need to talk to Tony.

The woods have darkened and chilled with the setting of the sun. You shiver in Bucky's pocket until they reach the Quinjet - Tony is already there, helmet off, and talking to Jarvis.

"Let's go," he says, not looking up as the ramp closes behind Nat.

"Tony," Bucky's voice is coming through gritted teeth as he strides forward. "We have a problem."

Still Tony doesn't take his eyes off of the control panel. "Er - yeah. I know."

"You  _knew_?"

"Bucky - " Nat tries to interrupt.

"Yes, I knew," Tony says. "It's the gamma signature in her blood when she's small that Jarvis was able to pick up on. That's the only reason we were able to find her."

Bucky's next words are biting. You wince, hearing the fury in his voice. "Are you serious, Stark? Why didn't you tell us?"

Tony, relatively cool, tilts his head to scowl at Bucky. "Well - probably because I figured you'd react like this, get a little angry, maybe shoot some people that don't need shooting up."

Bucky wrenches the strap of his rifle over his head. "Well, now you're top on my targets list, so."

You see Tony roll his eyes, and before things can escalate further you slap the vest above your head to get Bucky's attention, his frown turns down to you. But the hard light in his eyes softens. "Is there something I can eat?" you ask plaintively. "I'm hungry."

"Of course, spri -  _ahh,_ sweetheart." His ears turn red as he puts his rifle away in a nearby cabinet.

"Let me sit with Tony for a minute," you say.

Reluctantly, he lifts you from his pocket and sets you on the control panel. It's warm - it feels good, and you sigh a little as Bucky saunters away towards the supply drawers. When he's out of earshot, you turn to Tony and take a deep breath.

"Fill me in," he says quietly.

"One of my professors from Columbia has been working with AIM. He read my dissertation and must have put two and two together - he figured out who I am, and used a gamma ray gun on me that mimics the effects of the explosion which took Banner and I out in the first place."

Tony gives a short nod, and you see his thoughts moving quickly behind his shielded expression.

"They've been inventing a generator of sorts which is supposed to extend a burst of rays over long distances," you inform him. "He told me that the effects can be random - but when Hulk blood is included, the effects are more streamlined into...well, he didn't say exactly. He said there was just...more rage."

"And this generator works?"

You wince. "He was still working on it. There have been a lot of tests...nothing stable. It's ugly stuff, Tony."

"I don't doubt that."

"He also mentioned electromagnetism playing a key role in reversing and harnessing the effects of gamma rays," you continue. "That's how the effects on me were reversed by that scientist a year ago. The one - "

"Who should now be in prison…" Tony says slowly. "Jarvis, can you confirm that there have been no breakouts from the interdimensional prison?"

"Yes, sir. Just a moment."

"So let's get this clear," Natasha says, twiddling her thumbs in the co-pilot's chair. "AIM made a biological weapon out of gamma rays to use on a global scale and turn everyone into Hulks."

"Basically, yes."

She exchanges a look with Tony. "This is getting to be kind of a big deal."

"I know," Tony says, his lips twisting in thought. "If we had brought more of the team, I'd say we should go back down and take care of it. But I picked up on an alarm just as we were taking off. They know that we were there."

Jarvis voice pings overhead. "Sir, there have been no breakouts."

Bucky is now mounting the top deck again, frowning. You smile, reaching out for him and the protein bar he's carrying, and without a word he picks you up. Curling up onto the warmth of his flesh hand is like riding a bike. It feels familiar, with only a tinge of strangeness. Heartbreaking, but mostly familiar.

"Thanks for the report, sprite," Tony says absently. "We'll take care of it."

The hour-long flight back to the compound is spent with Bucky in the rear of the Quinjet. Growing warm, and your hunger abated, you perch on Bucky's knee as he listens patiently as you tell again the story of your capture. Stern, the electromagnetic gun, the experiments. He doesn't interrupt like Tony had, but the expression his face is a thousand times worse: absolutely shattered.

After you finish, it has grown quiet in the jet. You reach out to place a hand on his metal one, which is curled into a fist on his leg. His head is drooping, but at your touch he lifts it and tries to smile.

"Thank you for finding me," you say simply.

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but only a choking noise comes out, and he shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," he says finally, his voice rough. "I should've - "

"No!" With a fierce frown you squeeze his thumb. "Don't do this, Bucky. It's not your fault."

"But - "

"But nothing," you cut across, and the look in his eyes softens ever so slightly, though into exasperation. "It'll be fine, Bucky," you tell him with a smile. "I know it."

But you don't.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner that night is interrupted by a blaring alarm from within the compound.

You're sitting on the table in the kitchen, spooning up your last bit of soup from your doll-house dishes. Everyone else is strewn around, lulled by Steve's specialty, depression soup (made palatable by modern cooking techniques and ingredients), and so when Jarvis mildly announces that there is an intruder in the lab, mere baffled glances are exchanged. No one gets up running.

"An intruder?" Tony asks. " _How_?"

"He had the passwords, sir. But not an invitation, I think."

Tony looks at Steve, who shrugs and glances at Nat, who exchanges a look with Sam, who turns to Bucky, who frowns at you.

"Don't look at me," you say to Tony.

The group makes for the labs as one; you're standing on Bucky's shoulders for the best view. Everyone pauses outside the glass doors to the dim lab, peering in - you can see a shadowy figure behind a table, picking up this or that and looking closely at it. Finally Tony pushes a button to open the door. The lights spring on at last, and the intruder looks up.

Your mouth falls open. The lab has gone utterly silent in astonishment, though you feel Bucky's wariness as he tenses. Steve is the first to recover, and says smoothly,

"Dr. Banner."

"Hey, guys," he says, offering a tentative smile as he gazes around at the faces. And last, at you. His smile fades. More silence. You take in the sight of his ragged shirt, his unshaven chin, his uncut hair. Whatever your fluctuating feelings for your old boss have been the last couple years, the image evokes pity. He's been far off worse than you.

"Let's offer the man some soup," you suggest softly, and that breaks the dam - everyone starts speaking at once, and the awkwardness is lost in the hubbub.

"A biological weapon that uses Hulk blood?" Banner says faintly. His face is pale. You watch his varying expressions as he processes this information. It's late - past midnight - and everyone has gone to bed except for you, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce. Sitting around the clean kitchen table, while you sit in front of Bucky's crossed arms, their faces look eerie in the dim light from the sole light shining above in the otherwise dark room.

"We think that we can use the electromagnetic rays which reversed the effects of the accident, to shut down the weapon if it proves volatile," Tony explains. "But really, we'd prefer just to pull a plug and dismantle the generator."

"Electro…" Bruce's brows draw together. "I see. Yes, I see how that could neutralize the - "

"Dr. Banner," Bucky says loudly, interrupting Bruce's thoughts. Bruce jolts, and stars at Bucky across the table. You realize that they don't really know each other; Bucky moved into the compound after Bruce had gone off the grid. But stories would have been told. Stories _had_ been told. Bruce has obviously heard a bit of the Winter Soldier, because despite Bucky's non-threatening appearance now, Bruce still swallows nervously.

"Er - yes?"

"Could you replicate an electromagnetic ray?" Bucky asks bluntly.

"Replicate...well, er - " Bruce fumbles for an answer, while Tony leans over to say out of the corner of his mouth,

" _He wants his girl back."_

You feel your cheeks warm as Dr. Banner looks at you in confusion. Then he shakes his head. "I don't want to know," he says, and then turns to Tony. "You said you salvaged research notes from AIM…?"

"Yep. Thanks to our sprite. I can get you copies."

"That would be helpful." Bruce takes a deep breath, and then takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. How exhausted must he be? There'd been so much talk about the recent AIM developments that no one had asked Bruce how he was...where he had been…

"I'm tired," you say abruptly, surging to your feet on the tabletop. "We can talk more in the morning."

Everyone nods, absorbed in their own thoughts, except for Bucky - he stands, the legs of his chair scraping too loudly on the ground. You're only too happy to curl up in his hand as he carries you to his room. Not your hole in the wall, tonight. You'd spent the afternoon moving a few things over so that you could be comfortable with him - no risking Bucky rolling over in his sleep and squishing you.

Tucked up in your little bed, perched on a bedside table, you watch Bucky walk out of the bathroom, flicking off the lights. You yawn - it's been a long day, all things considered. You don't see the long gaze of concern as his eyes sweep along your tiny form.

"Good night, sweetheart," he says after a while.

"You can call me sprite, you know," you mumble, half-asleep. "I guess I'm not really in a position to be reasonably offended by it."

Bucky chuckles, a low sound, and you drift off.

"No news on the biological weapon front," Tony announces at breakfast. "We've been monitoring gamma radiation from the area where Sprite was found, but nothing out of the ordinary. So we know it hasn't been moved."

"So maybe this isn't as urgent as it seems," Nat says from where she's leaning against a counter, arms folded.

"Oh, it's urgent. As soon as the weapon is live, it can wipe out a radius of - oh, I don't know - "

"Ten miles?" you suggest. You're sitting cross-legged on a pile of cookbooks, trying to enjoy the few flakes of cereal you'd crushed up to fit into your bowl.

"Banner suggested fifty," Tony says. "He spent the night going through every last bit of information we have on AIM."

"Does he know how to...destroy the weapon?" Sam asks, tilting his brows.

"Working on it."

You are considering going down to the labs to see how Dr. Banner was getting on, maybe offer to help (if he needed a six-inch tall person's help), when a thrilling ping sounds in the kitchen. Nat pulls her phone from a pocket, and stares at it for a moment.

"SHIELD's in. They're sending backup," she says, a little vaguely.

"Backup?" Bucky grumbles. You know exactly what he's thinking, and you're thinking it too.

Nat is grinning - a feral grin. "I guess Clint was getting bored filing papers."

"Is he going to be here soon? Because I think it's about time for a briefing," Tony says. He drains his last bit of coffee, sets the mug in the sink, and smoothes down the front of his shirt.

"I guess since it's been like, three days since our last briefing you've been getting bored, huh," Sam says.

"I do love briefings."

"He'll be here today," Nat informs them.

"Excellent." Tony grins and starts for the hallway, and probably the labs. He does, however, pause to call back, "Tell Clint I'll leave the cat flap open."

Placing your bowl on the cookbooks, you stand and walk across the bar to where Bucky is sitting, frowning at his empty bowl. It's hard not to find the situation a _tad_ amusing, but for his sake - you give his arm (or more accurately, a pinch of his skin), a sympathetic squeeze.

"It won't be so bad, Buck," you say softly. "Clint didn't _mean_ to get you stabbed last time."

"Yeah, that's what he said. I think he just doesn't understand what makes a prank funny and what makes a prank dumb and mean."

You do agree with this - Clint was always the one to pretend not to see you around, and nearly step on you or drop something on your head. It was funny because it was Clint (most of the time after too much coffee), but it had been a relief when he moved to D.C. to work more for SHIELD.

"Well," you say, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "How about we hide the coffee maker, for a start. That way he can't get too hyped up."

"Then he'll just be crabby," Nat points out from across the kitchen. "That might be worse."

"Can't be that bad." Sam stands, taking his dishes to the sink as well. There's a new rule in the compound that whoever clears up their dirty dishes last has to clean everyone's dishes - it appears that Bucky is the winner today. But he's too preoccupied to notice.

There had been an incident - perhaps three months after Bucky started living at the compound. He had gone on a recon mission with Clint, but Clint, not knowing how jumpy Bucky was (or not caring), had distracted Bucky in the middle of a fistfight with a massive guard by making a loud, and rather tasteless joke. Bucky lost his concentration, was stabbed for his slip-up, and later bloodied Clint's nose in repayment.

_That_ had been an interesting day.

"Where's Steve?" Bucky asks after a while.

"Still running, probably," Sam says. "Said he was going north this morning."

"You're on dishes, Barnes," Nat finally straightens, rolling her shoulders back. "I need to go make sure my guns are cleaned. I have a feeling that Tony's going to send us out without notice."

"Good idea," Sam stalks out of the kitchen after her, sending back a smug grin to Bucky, who watched them leave without moving. He is resting his chin in his metal hand, and after a moment of silence you nudge his arm. He jolts, and glances down at you as his lips lift into a small smile.

"Well, I don't have any guns to clean," you say, matter-of-fact. "Want some company?"

"If it's yours? Always." Bucky's voice is soft, his smile twisted.

He sets you on the window ledge above the sink, and you sit, swinging your legs as Bucky sighs and turns on the faucet. You love watching him as he works. A towel is slung over his shoulder, the sunlight streaming in glinting on his metal arm where the sleeves of his shirt have been pushed up to his elbows. Whatever his thoughts are, he's clearly troubled. Even more obvious is that he's trying to hide it - you can see as much, in the furrow of his brows, in his stiff jaw, in his thinned lips. His expressions are so easy to read, for anyone who knows Bucky at all. You hope he's not still beating himself up over your shrinking again.

You think again about Clint, and Bruce, and AIM and the weapon...you bite your lip, listening to the sloshing of water and soap suds and the gentle clink of dishes. Though you've been trying not to think about how frightening it had been to be captured by AIM, the image of Professor Stern's deranged glee comes back to mind, and you shudder.

"Let's go."

You open your eyes - you hadn't even realized that you'd closed them, let alone long enough for Bucky to finish. His eyes are intent on your face, and you see the concerns that he is not voicing.

"Yes," you say faintly. "Let's."

But as Bucky is walking through the halls with you, as always, on his shoulder, a faint dinging sound comes from the speakers above.

"There is a visitor at the west entrance," Jarvis says mildly, probably to no one in particular.

"Clint?" you wonder aloud.

"Probably. Should we go tell him hello? Rough him up a little?" Bucky's voice is fierce, and you laugh.

"It's a bit early in the morning to be throwing unearned punches," you tell him. "But ok."

In the hall which leads from the west doors to the rest of the compound, Bucky pauses as you see Sam and Nat standing there, watching a projection of the cameras above the door. From what you can see, the visitor is wearing a hat with an emblem on in. Blue shorts. A messenger bag.

"Not Clint, then," you say as Bucky comes up behind them.

"Nope, that's definitely Clint," Nat says slowly. "We're trying to decide why he's dressed in costume."

"He probably thought it would be funny," Bucky suggests, his voice dry. "Pretend he's the present being delivered."

Sam snorts, and you giggle before a wicked thought comes to mind. "Oh, play the prank back on him," you say wildly. "Please. Let's watch him squirm."

"Oh, _yes_ ," Bucky is quick to agree. A slow smile has crept on Nat's face, and Sam orders Jarvis to open a com link to the west doors.

"Yes, who is it?" Sam asks loudly, faking an accent. It's _horrible_. You cover your mouth to keep Clint from overhearing your laughter.

"Er - " In the camera, Clint is shifting his weight awkwardly. "I have a delivery. Who's this?"

"Put it through the slot - there's a dear," Sam coos.

You tug on Bucky's ear, and he cocks his head to the side as you whisper hurriedly. Then he sneaks up on the door, kneeling in front of it as Clint starts to push a manila folder through the mail slot (which you had teased Tony for installing many, many times), and as soon as his hand is in view, Bucky grabs it with his flesh hand and yanks, giving a sudden shout of, " _Hah!_ "

Clint's shriek is heard through the door _and_ the speakers - everywhere in the compound, thanks to Jarvis's rare and obliging sense of humor. Sam is doubled over in laughter. You're about to fall off Bucky's shoulder as you chortle, and even Nat is giggling. Bucky is laughing, too; a rich sound, and one you wish you heard more often. Finally Nat orders Jarvis to open the door, and it swings open to admit a red-faced, surly Clint, who has torn off his hat to run his hands through his blond hair, sticking it up on its ends.

"Funny," he says sarcastically. "Really, _really_ funny. Which of you bozos thought of that one?"

"Welcome back, Clint!" You're wiping tears of mirth from your eyes.

"Where'd you park your jet?" Nat asks, a little out of breath.

"South landing pad - come on guys, that was _mean_!" Clint's face is slowly turning back to its normal color, but he's still frowning.

"No, that was _funny_ ," Bucky says. "Like, actually funny. No one got stabbed."

"It's not too late," Clint says menacingly, but he's quickly enveloped into the group by Nat and Sam, dragged further into the compound. He doesn't know he's in for an immediate briefing. You smile as Bucky trails more slowly behind - at least ganging up on Clint would bring some much-needed hilarity back into the compound. Otherwise you were going to get quite sick of thinking about the world being in mortal danger.


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting on an upturned beaker and staring at the wingpack in your hands, you're unable to speak. Everything about it - the silvery metal, the straps and buckles, the buttons and knobs - bring back shuddering memories of pain and failure. Tunnel vision makes your ears ring, but quickly you swallow that away.

"I made a few extra sets last time," Tony says after an awkward moment. "Didn't have the heart to throw them away. Too much work."

"I'm no good on missions, Tony," you manage to say. "Clint and Bruce will be there. You don't need me."

"We need you," Dr. Banner interrupts, and you finally look up from the wingpack to where the top of Bruce's head is visible behind a computer. "You're small enough to go unnoticed. Everyone else is going to be...you know. Noticed."

"They still know about me. They'll be on the lookout," you point out.

Tony is poking around some handwritten notes that Banner has left strewn around the lab. Avoiding looking at you, probably. But then he glances up. "Did Barnes ever teach you how to shoot a gun?" he asks abruptly.

"Well, yeah, but - "

"Did you ever try to hit a moving target the size of a hot dog?"

"No, that sounds silly - "

"AIM doesn't have any super soldiers on their team. No super shooters. No super aim," Tony says patiently. "You're probably going to be safer than the rest of us."

Oh. Right. You lapse into silence again, gnawing at the inside of your lip. "Dr. Banner, you haven't had any luck with that EMP device, have you? To fix me?"  _So that I don't have to go on this mission_ , you don't add.

"I've run some preliminary tests, but it's not looking good so far," Bruce says from behind the computer. "We don't have the updates AIM has done on their own systems. But I'll keep you posted."

"So now what?" you ask Tony, trying not to feel too disappointed. "Still waiting for more info on the biological weapon before we, you know, storm the castle?"

"I've been talking it over with Bruce," Tony says, and he grins at you. It's completely uncomforting. "We decided that it's probably safer to go before the weapon is completed. Even though we won't fully know what we're fighting, at least it'll be incomplete."

"Still dangerous," you point out.

"Yes, but less. Less dangerous."

"Then when we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. Wanna come with me to the common room, make the big announcement?"

"No. No, thank you." You can imagine the griping Tony will have to endure - the team  _hates_  last-minute missions. Sam had lobbied before that no less than 24-hour notice could be given. Tony likes to ignore these complaints, partly because he enjoys everyone griping, and partly because...well, he's usually right. Most missions can't wait. You stand to sling the wingpack over your shoulders.

"Tell Bucky I'm going to bed early," you say to Tony. He gives an exaggerated salute, and you take a slow jog to leap off the table, the wings springing out of the pack.

You're already in your dollhouse bed on the nightstand, waiting to fall asleep when you hear Bucky quietly open the door some time later. He doesn't speak - you can hear his even breathing as he probably listens to decide whether you're sleeping. You consider pretending, but he's not so easily fooled. So you sigh, roll over, and say,

"Bucky?"

"Yeah." There's relief in his voice, clear as day. What was he worrying about? You bite your lip.

"It'll be fine."

A pause. Then, "I trust you, sweetheart."

That's good. Because you don't trust yourself at all. You squeeze your eyes tightly, and wish for sleep to come.

* * *

_Two and a half years earlier._

You lay utterly still, despite the giggles threatening as Steve traces your pose with a pencil. His brow is furrowed in concentration. The pencil drags along by your waist, and you give an involuntary whimper.

"Sorry," Steve says.

"It's ok. I just didn't realize I was this ticklish."

He smiles, and you give a wide grin up at him from where you're resting on his sketchpad. It had been Sam's idea - that you pose for Steve as he draws; not in front of him, but actually on the paper while he traces around you. Currently you're spread out as if you're taking flight - head up, arms splayed. Steve had said that since you were the size of a fairy you might as well pretend to be one.

And that was the last thing he had said in the last several minutes besides his apology. Steve was anxious. Everyone was anxious - there was a new resident at the compound, and he had yet to be seen.

There were rumors, of course, of Steve's old best friend, who had supposedly died but actually became a supersoldier like him, except brainwashed and turned into weapon for Hydra. It had taken Steve a year to find him, but now he was here. Somewhere. Sam had mentioned over breakfast that maybe the guy would accidentally drown himself in his shower. Steve hadn't found that funny, though Tony had - and now Steve was coping with his worry for his friend by drawing. Usually it calmed him down; evidently not today.

The tip of the pencil snaps, and you give a shudder.

"I'm sorry!" Steve says again, quickly. "I didn't get you, did I?"

"Nope. Just startled me." He shuffles through a case for a pencil sharpener, and you breathe deeply as he sticks the pencil in. But before he can twist it, he stiffens, and lifts his head.

You've heard nothing. You glance at him, and a moment later a dark figure comes out from the shadows. Black shirt, lanky hair, unshaved chin. Jeans. And a thigh holster, holding a knife.

So. This is the Winter Soldier. He's a bit overdressed, you think.

You watch him as unobtrusively as possible as he takes a tentative step forward. Steve turns to smile at his friend, and a twisting attempt at a smile in return breaks out on the other man's face. He has a nice smile. Or it would be, if it weren't so stiff.

"Mornin', Buck," Steve says.

"Morning." His voice is low, raspy. Crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, he studies the room - the massive television on the wall, the shelves of books, the couch. The desk Steve is sitting at, and his sketchpad.

"Wow, Steve," the man says, a brow lifting as he nods towards you. "Aren't you a little old to be playing with action figures?" And he reaches out a hand towards you - his metal hand, and before he can pick you up as he surely intends to do, you screech at the top of your lungs and finally break your posture as you scramble away from his grasping fingers.

"What the - " the man starts to say, jolting backwards with wide eyes.

"Ah, you messed up my lines, sprite!" Steve says crossly.

"I'm sorry," you say, sniffing a little as you cross your arms, too. "I wasn't about to let him pick me up."

There's a low exhale from the Winter Soldier. "Toys have come a long ways in the last years, Steve."

"She's not a toy, Buck. She, er - had an accident. She lives here with the team." And with that part of the introduction done, Steve turns to you. "This is Bucky, sprite."

"Hello, Bucky," you intone, gazing up at him. "A little warning next time, before you try to pick me up?"

"I'm sorry," he mutters, and he runs his metal fingers through his hair. How his long hair doesn't snag on the ridges of the metal plates, you have no idea.

"It's ok," you say. His discomfort is clear as day in the ensuing awkward silence. You bite your lip. "I'm sorry I startled you, Bucky. I freak out easily. Comes with the territory, I guess."

This earns you the barest flicker of a smile. Bucky has a nice smile. Hadn't you already taken note of that? It hits you again.

"Did you sleep well, Buck?" Steve asks, and you drag your eyes away from Bucky.

"Yeah. I guess. I didn't expect the sleeping pills to help, but they did."

You try to smudge the outlines Steve has done back into place, and a silver sheen of graphite spreads up your arm. Oops. You mutter a curse under your breath, causing both men to look back at you in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Stevie," you say mournfully. "I tried - "

"It's ok!" Steve says with a chuckle. "I think I'm done drawing for now, anyway."

You stand and step off of the sketchpad as Steve throws all his supplies together. You try to clean your arm with your shirt, but it only smears in more. Lovely.

"Lunch, Buck?"

"Er, sure." Bucky's eyes return to flitting around the room. He must be nervous - you've heard enough of his past that it occurs to you how odd it must be to be in a home outfitted by Tony Stark. The technology, the comfort. Non-Hydra people around. The sunlight through the windows, the Ella Fitzgerald Steve had put on.

"Sprite? You wanna come, too?" Steve asks with a glance your way.

"Yes, please."

Steve lowers his shoulder so you can climb aboard. You settle yourself comfortably as he straightens, ignoring Bucky's odd look your way.

"I'm  _starving_ ," you say with a sigh. "You boys'd better watch your plates or else I'm going to eat everything myself." You pat your stomach with a smirk, and then command loudly, "Giddy up, Cap! Take me to the kitchen."

Steve is laughing. A moment, and then a baffled Bucky joins in, too.

You count that a success.

* * *

_Present Time._

"Ready?"

You swallow thickly before responding. "Ready."

The ramp of the Quinjet slowly starts to lower. You're holding tight to one of the straps of Bucky's vest as you brace yourself on his shoulder - opting for a better view rather than stability. Sam is breathing in huffs beside you, jogging in place as sunlight begins to spill into the jet.

"This is gonna be good," he says aloud. "Get in, destroy the weapon, get out. And knock out as many nerds as we can so SHIELD can put them all in jail."

You give him a glare. You know he's trying to lighten the mood, and why not? Let him. "Who're you calling a nerd?" you challenge. "Tony? Bruce?  _Me_?"

"You're all nerds," Sam says confidently.

"Let's save the name-calling for another time," Tony's voice is tinny through his mask. "And get this over it."

The ramp thuds to the ground, and no more time is wasted.

The woods where the underground bunker are incredibly bright, and you blink rapidly as your eyes adjust. It's not long after dawn, and watery light streams through the trees as everyone moves swiftly towards the door, on the lookout for guards. Bruce is hanging back - he's not intending to fight, much like you - but to work on disarming the weapon.

The crunch of forest floor underfoot seems unusually loud as the team fans out. Bucky's rifle is pressing into his opposite shoulder from you, his jaw is clenched as he glances around.

"It's too quiet," he mutters. Natasha has jogged forward to the bunker door, preparing to hack it open as she had the day of your rescue.

"All clear," Tony says over the coms. "No guards above ground."

"Maybe it's lunch break," you suggest.

"Maybe they're waiting to ambush us inside," Bucky counters.

"You gotta stop being so optimistic, Barnes," Clint's voice chimes in.

"We're in," Nat says loudly. "I don't see any ambush up front. Shall we go in?"

Nerves twist your belly as Bucky strides forward and ducks into the bunker. It's dark and dank, and the smell both familiar and nauseating. You clench the pouch on your belt, where one of several EMP devices are waiting to be used on the generator, to take out this gamma weapon. Though you had agreed to Tony's plan, you really just hope that someone else will take care of things so you don't have to.

"Think they moved the generator?" Nat asks, her voice hushed though there are no opponents nearby.

"Probably not," you answer. "They couldn't have. Not without some miracle of engineering."

So the path is traced back to the room you had been imprisoned in with the weapon. There's no bantering now - everyone is silent apart from their jogging footsteps. Even Clint hasn't said anything.

"Heat signatures inside," Tony informs everyone, easily taking the lead. You glance over your shoulder, trying to smile at Bruce's pale face.

"How many?"

"Four."

" _Four_?" Sam asks. "They're guarding a weapon of mass destruction, and there's only  _four_?"

"Maybe because it's a weapon of mass destruction," Steve says testily. "Those can take care of themselves pretty well."

"It's probably a trap," Natasha says.

"Then let's get trapped," Tony's voice is cheerful. Several pairs of eyes glare balefully at him, including yours, but he only shrugs. "Well, we won't  _stay_  trapped."

"Sure, uh huh." Sam shakes his head.

"I missed your plans, Stark," Clint intones. "You always think things through."

"Stop it, Barton - I'm blushing."

Everyone pauses outside the door to the room where the generator is. Bucky lifts his rifle again, ready. Clint has put an EMP arrow to his bow - the best shot at shutting down the weapon. Steve hoists his shield on his arm, and exchanges a look with Tony. Steve nods. Nat rolls her neck. You want to leave.

With a loud grunt and a tremendous amount of power, Steve kicks open the iron door. It clangs and bends, and a few bolts spring from the hinges.

"Nice," Clint says.

"Oh, shut up." Another kick, and the door is pushed completely out of the way. You brace yourself, thinking that the guards are going to attack, but there's no sound coming from inside the room. The yellowy light beckons everyone inward, and carefully they step around the ruined door one-by-one.

"Well, here it is," Tony says, coming to a halt some thirty feet from the generator. It's pulsating, and not in a way that bodes well. Surely they couldn't have figured out the weapon - but you feel a shiver of foreboding fear, anyway.

There's quiet as Clint lifts his bow, and shoots the EMP-tipped arrow toward the glass cylinder of the generator. It hits the mark with a dampened  _ping!_ , and all goes even quieter than before. You realize you've been holding your breath, and you let it out in a low exhale.

"Well, I'm going to look around while you guys activate the pulse," you say. You're sure that if you stand on Bucky's shoulder any longer, you'll go crazy waiting for something to happen.

"Don't go too far." Bucky turns his head slightly to smile at you, and you leap off his shoulder and sail into the air.

And none too soon, it seems. For all the tense silence is broken as three men, dressed in black and holding automatic rifles, come out from behind the generator and begin to fire at the assembled Avengers.

But they've face worse than guns before. Tony takes the brunt of it, as well as Steve on his shield, Falcon with his wings. Bucky throws his metal arm in front of Clint's face. There are several metallic pings, and landing on a pipe to watch below, you try to catch your breath. You are suddenly very glad that Tony made you a miniature bullet-proof vest, even if you had gotten out in time.

"Lame," you hear Sam say.

"Everyone ok?" Tony asks.

Your eyes are drawn towards Bucky - he's tenderly pressing his side, and you see a dark smear on his fingertips. You open your mouth to say something, but -

"Now!" comes a different voice. It's Professor Stern - you curse under your breath as you see his shining hair in the reflection from the generator. He's skulking off in some corner, and with wild eyes he starts pushing buttons on a tablet in his hands. A humming is coming from the weapon - it grows louder. You cower, covering your ears with your hands. Steve is shouting something, Tony sends a blast towards Stern but in the darkness he misses.

Then the yellow light is everywhere, and the hum turns into a scream - or is that the screams of your teammates as they're engulfed in smoke?

Gamma radiation. The experiments. The dead subjects. Oh, no -  _Bucky. Sam. Tony Natasha Steve Clint Bruce -_

The pulse of energy that explodes then is enough that your fear dissipates through a haze of pain, and as your mind clouds over your limp body slips off the pipe and hurdles to the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Your head is swimming. Pounding. Flashes of lights from beyond your eyelids. The sounds of rough, feral grunts. Mutterings. Mutterings of fear. Shuffling of a large...something.

You groan, and try to push yourself up. Miraculously, none of your bones seem to be broken, though your body feels like it's been beaten with sticks. The floor of the room is sticky and moist, and you press your hand to your throbbing temple.

Oh, no. The weapon - the pulse - Bucky - gunshot - _Bucky_ -

Blinking rapidly as spots appear in front of your eyes, you take in the sight of the room around you. The guards which had fired at your team were huddled together, speaking fast and low to each other. They sound panicked. That has to be good. Professor Stern, his mad eyes flickering around, looks, for the first time, afraid. You follow his eyeline to -

Dr. Banner.

Behind the fallen bodies of your teammates (you try not to look too closely, but you know they aren't moving), you see the crouched form of the Hulk. He's shaking his head, as if you clear it, and one massive green paw is rubbing his eyes. He's making those grunts you heard earlier. Probably disoriented, if he feels anything like you do. As the men continue to talk, Hulk's head whips around, his eyes narrowing at the enemies.

They lift their guns with a barrage of swearing, but it only makes Hulk madder. He leaps over the bodies in front of him, roaring a challenge as the pipes above his head burst. One of them is water, and you scramble to get out of the way before you get wet.

The EMP pulse! Clint had gotten the device on the generator - if you could get to it, you could activate it -

That had been a job for someone normal-sized. So you'd hoped. Looks like it's going to have to be you.

Great.

There are shrieks and clangs and bangs from nearby as Hulk takes his revenge on the guards. You activate your jetpack, praying that it wasn't destroyed in your fall. It wasn't. You hover off the ground, clenching your jaw to forget your aching body, and then drift upward.

Inside the glass panels of the generator, yellow smoke is swirling and sparking. It looks unstable, and you frown - what had Professor Stern done? There are sparks from the exposed wires of the holding base. You decide it's best not to find out.

With all your might you slam your fist into the button on the EMP. It glows red and starts to beep. Good.

Also, time to go.

There are no more noises coming from the guards. You glance over, and see Hulk breathing heavily over four bodies as he stares at the generator. His scowl is something fierce.

"Weapon bad," he mumbles. "Scientist bad." And he turns to glower at Stern, who is moaning, a streak of blood down his face. Then Hulk looks up again. He sees you, his eyes squinting.

"Uh - hi," you manage to say. "The, uh - EMP is going to neutralize the gamma rays and deactivate the radiation," you explain. "It's probably going to explode."

"Hulk go," he agrees. He starts to lumber for the door, and trips over a metal leg with a clang. Tony is sprawled out, face down. You bite your lip, and gather your courage.

"Hulk," you say, flying forward. "Can you help me get my friends out?" You hover some inches in front of his face. "I can't carry them myself," you add, smiling as you spread your hands outward.

Weirdly, a massive grin spreads across his face. "Hulk help," he says. "Fairy funny."

"I'm not a - " you start to say, but then decide not to argue with him.

You soar down to the ground, landing near Bucky as you push a hand into his neck. There is a pulse, faint as it is, and a weight of fear lifts from your shoulders. You hate how pale he looks - how everyone looks. It's more frightening than you realize to see your limp teammates tossed over Hulk's shoulders like bags of flour. None seem injured. Except for Bucky's gunshot that you'd seen…

Hulk lumbers down the hallways towards the door at your direction. He has to lower his head slightly, which makes him a little snippy, but all in all it's a rather efficient way to retreat from the bunker. No snarking from Sam or Clint is nice, for a change.

He dumps the bodies by the ramp of the Quinjet as the ground begins to rumble. You hadn't asked Tony or Bruce how far the effects of blowing up the generator would go - but as you fly several yards back towards the bunker to watch, it seems to be pretty minor.

Hulk comes up beside you, crossing his arms. "Bad science," he says after watching the ground shake for a few moments. "Shouldn't kill people."

"Or change them," you say wryly.

"Remember you," Hulk says gruffly. "Accident. Lab. Explosion. Long ago."

"I remember you too," you tell him. "You sure do make Banner look good."

He roars - actually roars with laughter, head thrown back, clutching his belly. After you recover from being startled by the noise, you laugh along, too. It's a relief after the past half-hour to laugh.

There are groans coming from the unceremonial pile of your teammates. Sitting down primly on Hulk's enormous shoulder, you watch as first Steve, then Bucky, then Natasha begin to stir with varying expressions of pain.

"You missed a party," you say loudly, crossing your arms as Sam, Clint, and Tony come to, too.

"Not my type of party," Sam mutters.

"This is worse than a hangover," Clint groans.

"Get your feet off my crotch, Barton!"

" _Somebody_ forgot deodorant this morning - "

"Nat, turn off your taser sticks. Ouch! No, I said _off_!"

"That's my _eye_ , Tony! Don't put your elbow in it!"

"Is that a gun in your pocket - ? I hope the safety's on - "

"Stop using me as a stepstool, please." The last voice is Bucky's, his face pressed into the leaves on the ground as Steve hoists himself up, one hand on Bucky's leg for support. Bucky lifts his head with a wince, and your heart skips a beat.

"Come on guys, we need medical," you say briskly, and jump off of Hulk's shoulder to fly forward. "Onto the Quinjet, all of you. Stop complaining! You absolute wimps - you didn't even _help_ to destroy the stupid weapon - "

With your urging, they all finally make it to their feet, though the whining doesn't stop, and into the jet where they collapse on seats, or just on the floor. You glance behind you, and see Hulk slowly lowering himself to the ground to sit cross-legged, facing away.

Rummaging through med supplies, you find a few things and drop them towards Bucky's lap. Weakly he removes his vest and shirt. Steve seems to be recovering the fastest out of everyone (Clint hasn't moved since he collapsed sprawled-eagle on the ground), and does the honors of patching Bucky up. You don't fly too close - the smell of blood makes you nauseous. Instead you go to the cockpit, and instruct Jarvis to set a course for home.

A few moments later Bruce is striding onto the jet, looking baffled and red-faced as he holds a few shreds of clothes to his otherwise bare body. You point him to the stores of extra clothes, and at last, the jet engines start, and the horrific underground bunker is left behind.

Tony lowers himself into the pilot's chair with a groan. His helmet is off now, and his face is still drained of color. "Remind me to give you a raise," he grunts as you settle yourself on the dashboard cross-legged.

"Tony, give me a raise," you oblige him.

Tentatively, wrapped in an overly-large jacket and a pair of jogging pants, Bruce sets himself in the co-pilot's seat. "What happened?" he asks faintly.

"Hulk saved everyone," you told him with a smile. "Tell him thanks for me."

"Uh, sure…"

"What I want to know," Tony says, as Natasha limps to the front, bracing herself on the back of his chair as she listens in. "Is why we were all affected, but you weren't." Sam comes up, and Steve, and finally Bucky, holding himself up on the hall. Clint is still down. You swallow.

"I was affected. I fainted," you point out. "And Bruce, too. Unless you meant to turn into the Hulk?" you ask him, unsure of your theory.

"Nope," Banner says. "The radiation turned me."

"Gamma radiation!" Tony says, snapping his fingers. "It didn't affect you, because you already have high-levels of gamma in your blood, and the effects on Brucie are nothing if not constant. It just triggered his transformation. Had you been normal," he looks at you, "You probably would have been shrunk."

"Exactly," you tell him.

"That makes sense," Bruce says.

"Then tell me why," Nat says with a wince, clutching her stomach. "Why didn't we turn into Hulks? Or...tiny-fied?"

"Maybe we have extra powers now," Sam's voice is wild, and he pats his shoulders, his chest, as if searching for something. "X-ray vision? Super strength?"

"In your dreams, maybe," Bucky mumbles.

"It could be," you say slowly, thinking fast. "That they hadn't managed to do that with the weapon yet. That's what they were trying to do - it's likely they didn't succeed. But they figured out how to knock people out, at least. That's something."

"Could be worse," Steve says. Even he's a little pale, though he's far more stoic about it. "We could all be Hulks right now."

"I don't think that would happen," you say. "When he captured me, Stern told me that the results of gamma radiation are unique on individuals. Like Dr. Banner and I were in the same accident, but turned out completely different."

"Interesting…" Tony muses, slouching back in his chair. "Think SHIELD will share the intel with us, maybe we can experiment on our own?"

"No!" says Bruce.

"No!" you say.

"No!" echoes everyone else. Except Sam. Sam looks positively dejected. It's good to know the gamma surge isn't having any lasting effects.

* * *

 

You sit on the edge of the stainless steel lab table, your heart beating fast as you swing your legs back and forth. Bucky is standing to the side, arms crossed with his brows pinched together in a frown. You smile at him - he tries to smile back, but he's too nervous. Clearly.

"It'll be _fine_ ," you tell him, for about the seventh time. "Bruce has triple-checked the results. He knows what he's doing."

"He'd better," Bucky mutters.

"I don't think you standing around all threateningly will help, Buck."

He releases his arms with a long exhale, attempting to appear more casual. It doesn't work. He's as rigid as ever. Dr. Banner, fortunately, is too focused on a few last-minute adjustments to notice.

"Do you think you can invent a vaccine to prevent this from happening again?" you ask Bruce.

"No," he says. "I've tried some experiments on myself a few times. So it probably won't work for you."

You sigh. At least all of AIM's equipment and data were now confiscated by SHIELD, and the scientists locked away. It's hard to feel bad for them. So you don't. And hope that they stay in prison for a long, long time.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay small?" Banner asks, pulling a set of safety goggles over his eyes.

"Yes," you tell him confidently. "I don't need the responsibility of saving the world on my shoulders any more."

Bucky snorts, and even Banner chortles. "Small shoulders," he remarks.

"Don't I know it."

Instead of a ray gun, Bruce has invented a sort of periscope with a blaster on one end. Clunky - but supposedly effective. He starts it up, and motions for Bucky to leave the room.

"I'd rather stay - " he begins to say.

"You'll regret it when you feel the EMP in your arm."

Bucky blinks, and ducks out of the room dejectedly. You smile at him as he turns back to look one last time.

"See you on the flip side, Barnes," you tell him.

"See you, sprite." And then he's gone. You turn to Bruce, and say,

"I'm ready."


	7. Chapter 7

It's a sunny, summer day that you finally graduate. Since it's been four years since you started your PhD program, it feel especially sweet to have a diploma in your hands and a cap on your head. With only two other students in this program, the ceremony is quick. It's almost anti-climatic. Almost.

"Congratulations, sprite!" Sam wraps you up in a hug when you find your friends in the small crowd (they make up half the crowd themselves, and are drawing the gaping attention of the other half of the crowd.)

"That's Dr. Sprite to you, pal," you tease, pinching his arm.

"A few more degrees, and you might catch up to me." Tony hugs you next, and you hear Jarvis speaking to him through his sunglasses. But you don't care what it's about. Not today.

Clint allows an embrace despite his grumbling, Natasha is more enthusiastic, Dr. Banner shakes your hand awkwardly, and Steve is smiling broadly as envelops you in a massive hug.

"I'm real proud of you," he says. "Always knew you'd do something amazing."

"I saved the world, Stevie," you remind him, uncaring of how much you're stretching the truth. "And I'm the only one in Avengers Tower with a lick of sense, so I think I'm amazing already."

"I think you're amazing, too."

Your face flushes hot as you feel Bucky pull you in from the side, and willingly you let him draw you upwards. He grins lazily down at you, looking oh-so nice in a collared shirt and tie for the event, and he gives you a lingering kiss. The cap falls off your head, but you don't care at all.

"Well, time to go," Sam says loudly. "Come on, you two. Can't just stand there making out all day."

Ignoring him completely, you wind your arms around the back of Bucky's neck. His eyes haven't moved from your face, but a wicked grin lifts his lips.

"Sweetheart, I need to ask you a question."

"Sure."

"A  _very_ important question."

You can hear Natasha's gasp. Tony's muttering something to Jarvis. Steve discreetly shushes Clint, and if you aren't mistaken - you can see Sam rubbing his hands together gleefully out of the corner of your eye.

"Shoot," you murmur. Your knees are weak. Bucky compensates for this by holding you tighter around the waist. You know everyone's watching - you still don't care. It's wonderful not to care.

"Wanna go out for ice cream?"

You grin. "Absolutely."

"Oh,  _come on!_ " Sam shouts.

But with Bucky's arm 'round your shoulder and your arm 'round his waist, the pair of you stride from the lawn side by side.

* * *

Lying on your stomach and buried in fresh white sheets, you study carefully the glint of sparkles coming from your left hand. You don't say anything - and for a while, Bucky, lying kind of beside you, kind of on top of you as he trails kisses upwards on the skin of your bare back, doesn't say anything either. You can feel the emanating warmth from his chest pressed into you, which makes it hard to think.

"Are you going to tell me if you like it or not?" Bucky's lips are by your ear now, and his low rumble makes goosebumps break across your skin.

"Of course I like it!" you say hastily. "You could've given me a twist-tie and I would've been happy, you know."

"A what now?"

"You know...one of the things on the bread bags."

"Oh." His hands are spanning your waist, and his cheek comes to rest beside yours. "Should I have gotten you a twist tie?"

"Well...I guess I like this better."

"Good." You can hear the smile in Bucky's voice. "It's vintage."

"I like vintage." You twist onto your side to smile innocently up at him. "It's just like you."

He tries to frown - really he does - but a moment later he's laughing with you, and you're tugged into a breathtaking embrace. Literally, breathtaking. "Can't breathe," you choke, and immediately Bucky loosens his hold on you.

The ice cream date following your graduation had turned into a "let's go find a hotel so we can have a night without Sam and Clint," which had turned into a weekend, and was looking like it would continue on for a few more days, at least. Steve was the only one whom you'd informed of your location, and you were enormously grateful he appeared to be keeping it a secret.

Bucky's metal fingers are tangling in the ends of your hair, his blue eyes, ever smoldering, raking across your face. You bite your lip, feeling a blush coming on, and he smiles a smile that lights up his entire face.

"It seems kind of inadequate to tell you that I love you," he says. You prod his chest with your index finger in response.

"Don't let that stop you, Barnes."

Bucky presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, and pulls away. "Let's go to dinner." Rubbing your cheek from the scratch of his whiskers, you smile ruefully and drag yourself out of bed as well.

The little town you've been staying in has little to offer in the way of restaurants, but there is one little Italian place. It's not too busy, for a Monday night. There are twinkling fairy lights all around the pagoda outside, and the night air is fresh and clear. You smile, humming along to the Frank Sinatra coming from an old-fashioned jukebox. There are a few couples, mostly older, dancing in an open space nearby.

"What're you thinking about?"

Your attention is drawn back to Bucky across from you. His eyes are glittering even in the dim light, a smile on his lips as he studies your expression. Your heart gives a lurch of affection and love and passion all at once, and you bite your lip.

"I'm thinking," you say slowly, gazing off into the middle distance. You give a dramatic pause for effect, and then say, "Mr. and Dr. Barnes."

Bucky gives a snort of laughter. "Wow. That…is really something."

"And what are  _you_  thinking about?"

His eyes fasten on yours, daring. "I'm thinking I might ask my girl for a dance while we're waiting."

"If the song is good enough, she just might agree."

Bucky stands to wander over to the jukebox, browsing through the options. You close your eyes, listening to the chirping cicadas, the murmured conversations of guests at tables nearby, and the bustle of the restaurant interior. Frank finishes singing, and there's applause on the recording. Then a new song starts, jazzy and slow and sensual. You open your eyes to see Bucky strutting back towards you, and he offers a hand. You take it.

"This was a popular song before I went to war," he muses, pulling you close. His metal hand snakes around to rest on your lower back. You smile up at him, your thumb brushing along the collar of his dark shirt.

"Sing for me," you dare him.

Bucky lowers his head so that his mouth hovers by your ear, and shivers break out across your skin as his low voice murmurs into the shell of your ear.

_Amapola  
_ _My pretty little poppy  
_ _You're like that lovely flower, so sweet and heavenly  
_ _Since I found you  
_ _My heart is wrapped around you  
_ _And loving you it seems to beat a rhapsody  
_ _Amapola…_

The solid warmth of his body is lulling. You sway along with Bucky, liking the sound of his singing and too willing to be drawn into a haze of...well, emotion.

Over dinner, you bring up a concern. "Bucky," you say musingly. "Do you think Clint will get drunk and dance on tables at our wedding?"

"I'm pretty positive that'll happen," Bucky answers, a touch of frown on his lips.

"Do you think Sam will make a bad toast and embarrass us?"

"Yes, I do."

"You know, it really makes me want to just skip a wedding altogether."

Bucky chuckles. "Cold feet already?"

"The opposite, actually," you tease. "I wouldn't suffer through a wedding for just anyone."

He places his fork on the table, meeting your eyes with a grin you can only describe as mischievous. "Then why have a wedding at all?" he counters.

"Well, ok, but - "

"I mean, why not elope?" Bucky gives a shrug, but you see the sparkle in his eyes. "No wedding."

"I like that idea," you say, nodding along.

"I mean, we're already out of town. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

Your mouth falls open, and you start to laugh. "You mean - get married  _now_?"

"Well, not necessarily tonight. But we can get it done on our way back to the New York."

The idea isn't so absurd coming from Bucky. Bucky, usually so stoic and cautious. If he thinks it's a good idea… Maybe it's the atmosphere of dim lights and the music, the wine and the food. Maybe it's Bucky's knee pressing absently into yours, maybe it's the relief of not having a league of evil scientists threatening the world. Maybe it's none of these things. But it's something.

"Sure," you say at last, and smile broadly. "Why not?"


End file.
